


Blossom of All-Forging Fire

by numbertwelvebakerstreet



Series: And I Urge You: Bite Me [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blood, Bottom!Hannibal, Bottom!Will, Bottoming from the Top, Cannibalism, Finally, First Time, Grinding, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder, Sexual Harassment, Summer Vacation, Vomiting, because of the encephalitis, in my world everyone bottoms and it's beautiful, just on the part of the assbutts from the elevator in red dragon, oh and, plans for after college/university, the scariest tag of all, will's empathy, will's encephalitis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 15:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1749374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbertwelvebakerstreet/pseuds/numbertwelvebakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will’s fever was growing, and the more desperate, the more mad, it made Will, the more malleable Will became beneath Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal worked firm fingers along Will’s thighs, squeezing at his hips, working the taut muscles like warm clay to be manipulated into a shape designed to please only Hannibal. Will’s chaotic, overwhelming heat was a necessity. But Hannibal was not above indulging in it, either. He breathed in Will’s carnal, encephalitic scent, sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine he had ever tasted. Then he licked along Will’s already damp neck, his sensitive palate tasting past the brine of sweat to catch stronger hints of the disease turning Will’s blood to fire and his mind to liquid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perspective

“This is insane,” Will said under his breath after the flight attendant offering drinks had passed.

“What’s insane, Will?” Hannibal asked just as softly from beside him.

Will startled.

“I thought you were asleep,” Will apologized.

“I was drifting. What’s insane?”

“Oh - um - just . . . ” Will quickly pondered how to skirt around his honest answer - that every aspect of his current situation with Hannibal seemed like some kind of blissful hallucination. “I thought we’d be going Economy Class. I mean, I would have been happy taking a minivan - I didn’t expect you to pay for all this.” Will gestured in the general direction of the flight attendant, who was smilingly handing a glass of champagne to another passenger a few seats ahead.

“I would not have been happy taking a minivan,” Hannibal chuckled sleepily. “I’m also not entirely happy” - now he was sliding a hand over Will’s on the armrest - “that we are not on our way to Paris at the moment.”

“I was always planning to use this summer to go out to D.C.” Will knew to avoid directly mentioning Agent Crawford or the FBI. He still smiled, though, because Hannibal was talking about Paris and lightly brushing Will’s fingers with his thumb.

“Well, I’m sure I can find as many diversions for you in Washington as anywhere,” Hannibal sighed, grinning, and his breath was sweet and intoxicating with the remnants of the port he had polished off just before he’d closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. He closed them again now, his hand still resting on top of Will’s.

With the warm, steady weight of Hannibal’s hand on his, Will found sleep, too.  

 

Will hadn’t asked about their accommodations before they arrived at the obscenely lavish Ritz-Carlton about three hours later. Will was glaring upward at crystal chandeliers when Hannibal introduced himself to a concierge and asked after the two rooms he had reserved. Two rooms. Will understood perfectly the appearances his professor had to maintain, but felt a slight, irrational pang of disappointment nonetheless.

They piled into an elevator with a pair of Southern-sounding men in business suits. The men were having a boisterous conversation about the polite and well-tailored concierge Hannibal had just spoken to.

“God damn, I’d love to tear off a piece of that.”

“Fuck her till her nose bleeds.”

“Say, you know why a woman has legs?”

“Why?”

“So she won’t leave a trail like a snail.”

As the men exited onto their floor, Hannibal tapped one on the shoulder.

“You lost your wallet,” Hannibal said coolly, handing it to him. Will must have been too distracted by the men’s repellant conversation to notice Hannibal picking it up.

“Oh,” the man said, looking abashed and taking it.

Hannibal stared placidly until the man cleared his throat, gave a jerky nod of thanks, and walked off stiffly.

“Charming,” Hannibal said as the elevator doors closed again.

“Rut and then fear, and then anger at the fear.” Will didn’t know what he was saying. He was irritated and still not fully awake. “I would’ve left it on the ground,” he sighed.

“There are better ways of dealing with the rude.”

While Will rubbed a hand over his eyes, under his glasses, Hannibal discreetly slipped a business card into his own inner coat pocket.

 

The childish emptiness Will felt once shut away in his own room and left to unpack for the coming weeks was interrupted when he heard a knock. The sound had come from a direction other than that of the door through which he’d entered. He glanced up and felt his chest swell. There was a door connecting his and Hannibal’s adjacent rooms. He bounded up to it, suddenly energized with the rare bit of sleep he’d gotten on the plane, and fumbled hurriedly with the locks until he could swing the door open to reveal Hannibal in his shirtsleeves, looking amused and endeared by the inelegant racket Will had made in rushing to open the door.

“Settling in alright, Will?” Hannibal asked.

As a response, Will threw his arms around Hannibal’s neck and kissed him enthusiastically. Hannibal’s hands pressed steadyingly into Will’s hips, and Will stilled somewhat, panting and leaving gentler kisses along Hannibal’s neck.

Hannibal’s hands slid over Will’s hips, his ass, then down the backs of his thighs before gripping tightly and lifting Will up off the ground. Will tensed and took a short gasp at Hannibal’s mouth before relaxing and crossing his calves behind Hannibal’s back.

As he allowed the boy in his arms to ravage his mouth, Hannibal walked backward steadily, perfectly in control, to sit them down at the edge of the bed. Will began grinding downward frantically into Hannibal’s lap, still kissing and panting at the man’s full lips.The strange fear crossed Will’s mind that he might melt away with the heat he was generating between them.

Hannibal sensed this. Will’s fever was growing, and the more desperate, the more mad, it made Will, the more malleable Will became beneath Hannibal’s touch. Hannibal worked firm fingers along Will’s thighs, squeezing at his hips, working the taut muscles like warm clay to be manipulated into a shape designed to please only Hannibal. Will’s chaotic, overwhelming heat was a necessity. But Hannibal was not above indulging in it, either. He breathed in Will’s carnal, encephalitic scent, sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine he had ever tasted. Then he licked along Will’s already damp neck, his sensitive palate tasting past the brine of sweat to catch stronger hints of the disease turning Will’s blood to fire and his mind to liquid.

Hannibal would indulge in it, but only to a certain extent, for now. Will was not entirely ready to be pushed past the breaking point, and Hannibal sensed that that was where the young man was headed, rutting helplessly, wearing himself away, against the solid body beneath him.

“We ought to shower off,” Hannibal huffed into Will’s ear, allowing some of his own arousal to manifest in the breathlessness of the suggestion.

“Hmm,” Will gave as a response, barely registering what had been said to him and not slowing the pace of his hips in the slightest.

Hannibal kissed his cheek once, hard, then slid his hands back underneath Will’s thighs and stood with him in his arms again. Will groaned in protest against Hannibals hair, pushing his fingers into it and tugging slightly, but then resumed his assault on Hannibal’s mouth as the professor walked them to the spacious, dimly lit bathroom.

Hannibal deposited Will in a sitting position on the counter beside the sink and removed Will’s flannel shirt quickly, without looking down, because Will was now sucking and biting ferociously at Hannibal’s lips. Then Hannibal scooped Will up, bridal style, and laid him down in the oversized tub of the shower. Will shuddered violently, because the cool black marble felt like ice against his overheated skin.

Hannibal easily pulled the washed-out jeans and then the boxers off of this more subdued Will, and draped both neatly over a towel rack. Then he left Will, prone and naked in the empty tub as he turned to undress himself. Will shuddered again, but watched avidly as the dress shirt fell away to reveal Hannibal’s lithe, strong back muscles. Hannibal pulled something out of his pants pocket and palmed it, then turned back around to face Will as he stepped out of his pants and boxer briefs. Then he reached over to turn on the tub faucet above Will’s feet, which ran cold at first, another shock to Will’s nervous system, but steadily warmed as Hannibal stepped in over Will and kneeled to straddle him, placing a small, expensive-looking black bottle of something on the edge of the tub. Will turned his head to read the label, ignoring most of the minimalist print to focus on the words “sex oil.”

 _Holy shit,_ Will thought, turning his eyes back to Hannibal’s.

“We needn’t do anything for which you are not ready,” Hannibal replied to the staggered look on Will’s face.

“I, um . . . ” Will swallowed his nervousness down, hard. “I’ve never done that - I mean, not that way - before.”

“Then you might like to try penetrating first,” Hannibal smiled kindly. “With my guidance, and provided you are amenable, of course.”

“I’m amenable,” Will tripped over the difficult phrase, nodding his head a little too jerkily, and internally cursed himself.

Hannibal gave the same kind grin, only wider this time.

The cool water looked inky black as it warmed and rippled and filled the dark, polished stone, but Will didn’t want to think about that as Hannibal bent down and kissed him, gently, on the lips and moved above him, taking Will’s flagging erection in hand and slowly pumping new life into it, making Will momentarily forget his trepidation.

Hannibal kissed Will again and let go of him to take up the bottle and Will’s hand and pour some of the sweet-smelling oil onto his fingers.

“You’ll have to prepare me first,” Hannibal explained as he spread the oil out evenly, and Will caught his meaning with some small astonishment, suddenly extremely conscious of how much younger and inexperienced he really was than this man, how sheltered he’d been as a result of his inability to get close to anyone else he’d met before.

Hannibal turned and shut off the faucet, and when he faced Will again seemed to pick up on some of what was going through his mind, because he put hands on either side of Will’s face and said, “It’s alright, Will. You’re still sure you want to do this?”

Will nodded his head between Hannibal’s hands, comforted, and decided he could risk sounding a little more stupid by asking, “Just - how is this going to feel good? For you, I mean?”

Hannibal’s face broke into a wide smile and he laughed, though not unkindly, hands still gripping Will’s face.

“I’ll show you,” Hannibal said, and kissed Will gently, then again, more deeply, then a third time, long and passionate as he brought Will’s oiled fingers down over his hole.

“Press one finger in, Will.”

Will did, shallow, hesitant. Hannibal breathed in.

“Deeper, Will.”

Will pressed in a little deeper, and Hannibal sighed out, contentedly.

“Now you can move, just in and out. It’s alright, Will.”

Hannibal rewarded Will with pleasured sighs and tensings of muscle which grew in intensity each time Will followed an instruction to push deeper, to add a finger, keep going, now add a third, grunting, yes, Will, there, there, as Will hit Hannibal’s prostate by chance and then experimentally sought out, hit the spot again and again until Hannibal was gasping above him, fingers clenching at the edges of the tub on either side of Will’s head, the sight making Will’s erection grow and drip Cowper’s fluid in turn.

“Now, Will, now,” Hannibal said, pouring more oil into his hand and slicking a layer of it over Will’s cock. Will gasped at the sensation and removed his fingers all at once, causing Hannibal to grit his teeth and groan. Will felt apologetic but then steeled himself as Hannibal grasped the base of Will’s dick, poised over him and then pushed Will inside himself, slowly at first, but deeply, and then brought his hips up, and then down again in a controlled, steadily increasing motion that was both like and unlike that of Will’s fevered grinding from before.

Here Will felt no less delirious and blinded by Hannibal’s presence, by the heat emanating from their joined, moving bodies and the overwhelming pleasure Hannibal was drawing from him with each engulfing movement. In fact, there was the added effect now of the hot water lapping around his skin, steam rising and fogging his breath, his vision, the dim lights and black marble everything making his surroundings feel like swirling, oppressive, unknowable darkness. The difference now was that Hannibal was in absolute control, anchoring and guiding Will like a sailor lost in the fog at night. The thought comforted Will and he lost himself completely to the sensation, letting his orgasm overtake him and ejaculating deep within Hannibal.

Hannibal kissed Will’s cheek tenderly, pulling off of Will as if satisfied, but still aware of other dimensions of this yet to be explored, and wondering what Will might do next. The boy did not disappoint.

“Wait,” Will said blearily, tugging at Hannibal’s hips. “Do it to me. I want to know what it felt like for you - Hannibal, do it to me.”

Hannibal could never have anticipated such a beautiful supplication, the way Will’s thighs opened up pleadingly, so desperate to feel as Hannibal felt, to know and see him as completely as possible. Hannibal had never met anyone so exquisite.

“Of course, Will,” he said affectionately, and he laid a kiss on Will’s forehead as he reached again for the lubricant, but Will said,

“Hannibal?”

“Yes, Will?”

“Could we maybe switch positions? Do it the same way?”

“Yes, Will.”

 _Exquisite,_ Hannibal thought.

Hannibal laid down easily beside Will in the roomy tub and Will in his trance-like languor got up to his knees to straddle Hannibal in the same way Hannibal had done to him. Will watched in a daze as Hannibal lubricated his own fingers and then he took on Hannibal’s first stance exactly, hands gripping the tub wall on either side of Hannibal’s head.

Will gritted his teeth at the strange sensation and slight pain as the first finger pressed gently into him. After a while, he asked for it deeper, and Hannibal complied, then eventually another, and then the brush against his prostate came deliberately early from Hannibal, curious to see what Will would do. Will gasped and shuddered hard, and then, panting, asked for Hannibal to do that again, please, and Hannibal’s fingers caressed the sensitive area repeatedly until Will asked for the next finger, and Hannibal gave it, over and over, until Hannibal was satisfied that Will was ready.

Hannibal quickly went over himself with the oil and was about to line Will up with himself when Will took over, mimicking Hannibal’s action of holding onto the base of Hannibal’s cock and pressing it into himself. Hannibal smiled at the initiative and let Will set his own pace, rolling thin hips over Hannibal’s repeatedly, aligning himself so that Hannibal would brush and press against that sweet spot deep within Will each time.

Hannibal revelled in seeing Will seek out his own pleasure and, if illusorily, control over the situation, because it was exactly what Hannibal would do. He wanted Will in precisely this way, using his gift to step into Hannibal’s perspective, let his own perspective bleed into it and fade away until all that remained was a man created in Hannibal’s own image.

When Will’s eyes drooped with that simultaneous control and abandon to match Hannibal’s own, when Hannibal could sense the pendulum swing, feel the words forming in Will’s mind, though never spoken outrightly, _This is my design,_ Hannibal let himself come in Will, delighting in furthering the image this presented of their existences bleeding together, their bodies becoming one.

Will’s eyes fluttered open again as he came back to himself, although unknowingly trailing a piece of another behind him. He seemed disoriented by what he’d done, empathizing with Hannibal as he’d always stopped himself from doing with anyone but the killers he profiled, for fear of alienating and frightening others.

Hannibal didn’t look frightened. He looked awed, proud, even, and downright loving. Will didn’t know what to do with the blatant, unrestrained affection he saw in the eyes of this man beneath him, when no one had ever looked at him in that way, not even his own father.

 _Not going there,_ Will thought, reminded fleetingly of the age gap between himself and Hannibal. Only fleetingly, because just then Hannibal sat up and pulled him into a fervent kiss.

After briefly lamenting the loss of the beautiful bouquet of sex and fragrant oil and encephalitis left in the water and clinging to Will’s skin, Hannibal pulled the drain open. Then he drew himself and Will upward to standing together, turned on the showerhead, and reached for soap to wash them both.

  
The expensive bed Hannibal had bought for Will was left perfectly made and untouched. They laid down, limbs wrapped up together, naked beneath the sheets, in Hannibal’s bed. Will fell asleep almost instantly. Hannibal watched him for a while, looking forward to the return of a fresh musk on Will’s skin and in the sheets by morning, before giving into the tug of sleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to turn Blood and Guts into a series so I could focus this whole work on Will and Hannibal on their vacation together (this might be an attempt to come to terms with the finale) and getting Will out doing field work with Jack and the gang.  
> I also really wanted to see Hannibal deal with the assbutts in the elevator in Red Dragon.  
> Promises of things to come!  
> Also, I did some Internet research and found out that, while oil-based lube might be more convenient for underwater sexcapades because it doesn't wash away as easily with water, it is not recommended for anal sex because it can linger and lead to infection. Please talk to actual doctors about these things and read the warnings on your lube; do not attempt what you read in fanfic!  
> Hope you liked it and stay tuned for our next installment!


	2. Recruitment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tricandilles - pig intestine, boiled in broth and then grilled with brandy, cider vinegar, and a collection of herbs and spices.”  
> “We’re having chitlins?” Will grinned.  
> “Yes,” Hannibal said, sounding a little put-out at the oversimplification and turning his back to Will to pull up chairs for them both at a small table. “Southern food - I thought you might be comforted by a reminder of home.”  
> As they sat, Will immediately, unwarrantedly, thought that Hannibal felt more comforting, more like home to him, than any physical place or cultural tradition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very little smut in this chapter (Sorry - I actually disappointed myself a little, too.) so I hope you like angst and hannigram dating fluff, 'cause that's all I got for now. Enjoy the people-chitlins!

Hannibal flinched awake at the shrill sound of a digital watch alarm. His first thought, as Will sleepily moved to silence the thing on his bedside table, was that he’d need to buy the young man a real watch. His second thought, as Will began to clamber out of bed, was getting the young man back into bed.  

Hannibal rose to his knees at the edge of the bed where Will was standing, his back to Hannibal, looking around sleepily for clothes. Then Hannibal twisted his arms around Will’s waist and rested his chin on the young man’s shoulder, breathing in that fevered smell that had once more collected on Will’s skin during his peaceful sleep.

“I have to be at the J. Edgar Hoover building in forty-five minutes,” Will sighed, resting his own arms over Hannibal’s.

“You have time, then,” Hannibal said lightly, beginning to kiss along Will’s neck and shoulder.

Will tilted his head to the side, baring his neck to the caress of Hannibal’s lips, and said, “Just enough time to get ready, to wake up some.”

“You slept last night, Will.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t need some coffee before the meeting.”

“Will,” Hannibal said, turning Will’s head to face him with light fingers. “You slept last night.”

Will smiled at the observation; last night was the first through which he’d slept soundly in several months, since before he’d consulted on the Shrike case.

“You wore me out,” Will admitted, smirking.

“I’d very much like to wear you out further.”

Will grinned wider, then said, “I have to go.”

“I wish you didn’t feel that way.”

Lecter’s tone was less teasing, more somber now.

“I know you don’t approve of this.” Will said, slumping backward into Hannibal’s chest.

“You have no need of my approval, Will. But I would have you consider another option. I did my residency at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. You are an excellent student already, and a recommendation from me would no doubt put you in a very favorable light with graduate admissions. I could arrange for us to visit their DC campus while we are in the city.”

“Did you already have that in mind when you agreed to this trip?”

Will was disgruntled, but couldn’t help but be amused and grateful for the consideration Hannibal was showing for him with the offer.

“I may have,” Hannibal grinned. “But it’s still only a suggestion.”

“It’d be rude for me to show up late,” Will said halfheartedly, breath shortening, as Hannibal’s hands sank lower. “Or not show up at all.”

“We can’t have that,” Hannibal said, touching him just enough to get him achingly hard and ready to stay behind, before letting go, murmuring, “I’ll call you a taxi,” and pulling away.

 

Will’s head was swimming with frustration and uncertainty even as he entered Crawford’s office at FBI Headquarters.

“Will Graham,” Crawford said cordially, standing and shaking Will’s hand. “It’s excellent to finally meet you. Please, have a seat.”

Jack Crawford took his own place behind the desk as Will sat, which made Will nervous. This was beginning to feel like a job interview.

“First of all, I want you to know how appreciative the Bureau is of the help you’ve already provided us. You took limited evidence, a thousand miles away, and you built up a profile that led us straight to Garret Jacob Hobbs. I made sure the higher-ups know that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Will, I understand you’ll be a senior come fall. What do you plan on doing after you graduate from Tulane?”

“To be honest, I’m weighing my options right now.”

“I’ll be honest with you, too, then. I want you working with me on criminal profiles. I’ve never seen anyone with your talent for it, and I think it would be downright irresponsible not to take advantage of that with lives at stake. Go through training after you graduate, get some professional experience, and you could make Special Agent in as little as five years. It’s about as solid a career as you’ll find, and I think you’d be perfect for it. You said you were weighing your options - do you mind my asking what those are, specifically? What career paths have you been considering?”

Not a job interview, then. More like recruitment.

“Um - psychology, medicine. Maybe even something scholarly, a professorship.”

“The FBI employs psychologists and doctors both. You can work for us within those disciplines. The Academy even offers teaching positions. In the meantime, I’ll want you consulting with Behavioral Sciences. I really don’t want to take no for an answer here, Will. At the very least, I want your word that you’ll consider it.”

“I will.”

“Alright, then,” Crawford beamed, and stood. “Come on and I’ll introduce you to some other trainees.”

 

The BAU’s lab was all cold steel and concrete, bright lights giving the illusion of warmth when their real purpose was to aid in the dissection and observation of the dead that passed through here.

Will was introduced to Beverly Katz and Brian Zeller, both a little older than him, wearing FBI Academy polos and lab coats, then Jimmy Price, an agent wearing a button-down shirt with his lab gear.

“So you’re the famous Will Graham,” said Katz, sounding genuinely awed. “How in the hell did you peg the Shrike down like that?”

Will opened his mouth, unsure of what to say and averting his gaze, disliking the way her eyes raked over him, fascinated.

“Agent Crawford says you think Cassie Boyle was a copycat murder?” Zeller interjected, sounding just as skeptical as Katz had been probing.

Here Will could give a somewhat solid answer.

“The M.O. didn’t match. Cassie Boyle’s killer cut her lungs out while she was alive, put her on display and left her for the crows. Hobbs liked to kill quickly and humanely, and he found use for every part of the bodies.”

Zeller quieted, but still didn’t look fully convinced.

“Well, we’ve got some new reason to entertain that theory,” Crawford said. “Price, show us Marissa Schur, please.”

“Sure thing,” Price said, chipper, as he beckoned and led them through a glass door to a room where a body lay on an operating table, covered up with an opaque plastic sheet.

Price grabbed a manila folder off of a side table by the door and handed it to Will, saying, “Here’s how we found her.”

Price slipped on a pair of surgical gloves as Will opened the folder and flipped through the crime scene photographs inside. Another girl mounted on antlers, this time upright in what looked like a log cabin, surrounded on all sides by more mounted antlers of varying shapes and sizes. Like she was being consumed in the maw of some great, many-toothed beast.

Will fought off the pendulum swing, because Price was still talking to him, uncovering the girl’s body.

“We found her after we got Hobbs, in his old hunting cabin. She’d been a friend of his daughter’s. We half wondered why Hobbs didn’t take her while he had the chance; she fit the victim profile perfectly, as far as appearance goes.”

“What do you think, Will?” Crawford asked. “This our copycat?”

“Is it alright if I use the restroom?” Will asked.

“Yes, of course,” Crawford said, taken aback, and gave him directions.

Will knew that they were skeptical of him, talking about him as soon as he entered the hallway, but he couldn’t get into a killer’s head with four pairs of sane, suspicious eyes trained on him. Safely locked away within a bathroom stall, Will let the pendulum swing.

He was standing in the cabin, surrounded by antlers, facing Marissa Schur’s mounted body as it slowly dripped blood onto the wooden floor. This was meant to humiliate Marissa, to show his contempt for her. In ending her life, displaying her corpse like this, he was improving her in the only way possible, making her into something beautiful. Artful, indulgent. The copycat’s design.

Will opened his eyes, finding himself back in the bathroom, shaking, in a cold sweat underneath the blast of an air vent. He reflected involuntarily back on what he’d seen and felt in his trance. His head pounded and something twisted in his stomach. He got to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited. He made sure to rinse his face and mouth thoroughly before returning to Crawford to confirm that this was, without doubt, Cassie Boyle’s killer.

 

“Tricandilles - pig intestine, boiled in broth and then grilled with brandy, cider vinegar, and a collection of herbs and spices.”

“We’re having chitlins?” Will grinned.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, sounding a little put-out at the oversimplification and turning his back to Will to pull up chairs for them both at a small table. “Southern food - I thought you might be comforted by a reminder of home.”

As they sat, Will immediately, unwarrantedly, thought that Hannibal felt more comforting, more like home to him, than any physical place or cultural tradition. But how do you come back from vocalizing a thought like that to someone you’ve only been fooling around with a couple months?

So Will filled his mouth with a bite of food to prevent anything stupid from coming out of it.

“This is delicious,” Will said after swallowing, because it was, even if it was only barely reminiscent of any chitlins he had ever tasted. More comforting than a reminder of the South; it was a reminder of Hannibal.

Will thought back to a time when he was maybe six or seven, and some well-meaning evangelical woman, maybe a neighbor, had dragged Will and his father both to church one Sunday. His father was weepy and fighting off a hangover through the whole service, and when the Invitation came at the end, he went up to the front of the church with Will in tow and made a profession of faith and cried. And Will had cried, too, though he didn’t understand why. His father was good and bright and happy for less than a week and then he was back to tearing through bottles of Jack Daniels as soon as he got home and yelling at the slightest provocation.

Will dragged himself back to the calm, easy present.

“So, we get the whole restaurant to ourselves, and what, a private chef?” Will asked.

Hannibal smiled and said, “I am the private chef tonight. The restaurant belongs to an old friend of mine. She’s always closed Monday evenings, and was generous enough to grant me use of the place and its kitchens.”

“Wait, so you made this?”

“I cook often. I enjoy it, especially when I can share it with good company.”

“This is incredible.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“I mean everything. I don’t know if I’ve thanked you yet, for coming with me, for doing all this . . . ” Will hesitated to use the word “romantic” and settled on, “ . . . really nice stuff for me.”

“I like doing really nice stuff for you. I wish you would allow me to do more really nice stuff for you.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Hannibal had been teasing Will, flirting with him, so Will was flirting back. He’d never done much of that before, so was surprised at how easily it came to him now.

Hannibal grinned at Will’s suggestive tone, and said, “Among other things, I’d like to take you clothes shopping tomorrow morning, if you’re not busy. I think you should at least own a real watch.”

Will cringed internally at the thought of Hannibal buying him the kind of expensive, tailor-made suits he favored, even more so at the thought of him dropping thousands on a damn Rolex Will would be too afraid to wear. But Will made an effort not to sound ungrateful as he said, “That’d be nice, thank you.”

Hannibal knew how much Will would despise being dragged through designer stores, being made to try on the overpriced inventory, what with his half-buried grudge against the rich. It was exactly what Hannibal intended to subject the boy to.

Will narrowed his eyes at the deviously amused look on Hannibal’s face and decided to change the subject, asking, “So, what else’re you hiding, Professor? Are you a piano virtuoso, or a professional dancer? Or a master assassin?”

“I do play the piano, though I prefer the harpsichord, or the theremin.”

Will’s eyes lit up with wonder at that. He’d never fully grasped how eccentric Hannibal was, and he found it delighted him. Will began to understand a little better how Hannibal could be interested in someone like him.

They finished dinner and dessert - perfect Café du Monde-style beignets, but with a warm cherry syrup on the side - all light conversation like that, and when they were done, Will tucked his lips in and nodded hopefully in the direction of a small grand piano on a raised platform.

Hannibal sighed gently with mock exasperation and stood, found a small remote control behind the bar to shut off the stereo. Will followed him to the piano, where Hannibal sat, patted the space beside him on the bench for Will to do the same, and picked up where Chopin had left off on the speakers.

Will stared, mesmerized, at Hannibal’s hands moving gently over the keys. When the music ended, Will felt warm and full and his face flushed as Hannibal kissed him.

“Let’s do that tour of Johns Hopkins,” Will said quietly. “Whenever you want, we can go.”

“Whatever you wish to do.”

Hannibal kissed him again.

“I want to,” Will said. “I want to go with you, I want to get away from this case, I want - ” The words “ - this killer out of my head,” stopped at the top of Will’s throat and he choked on them.

Hannibal held Will’s face and searched it.

“What happened at the FBI today, Will?”

“Another girl died. We think it’s the same killer as last time, the Shrike’s copycat. I thought too hard about it. I got sick in the bathroom.”

“Thought too hard about it? Will, what does that mean?”

“I dunno, I just - I got too close. I felt . . . guilty.”

“Guilty because you couldn’t save her?”

“Guilty because I felt like I did it.”

Will gasped out the last half of the sentence and his head began swimming again and he was shaking violently.

“Will,” Hannibal said softly, holding onto him and laying a kiss on his temple. “Dear Will.”

And Hannibal held him that way, repeating Will’s name to him in that unforgettable voice as if to remind Will of who he was, or at least of who he was in Hannibal’s eyes.

 

 


	3. Peaceful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cherry blossoms were on the last leg of their bloom for the year as Will and Hannibal walked beneath them along the tidal basin, fingers interlocked. Hannibal spoke softly in Will’s ear about the sakura trees, about how they represented fragility and transformation, about how their seasonal change was never easy to predict but always beautiful, to the extent that people travelled to follow the blooms as they occurred throughout the different regions of Japan and wherever else the trees were present in the world.
> 
> Will only half listened, in a daze, as the warm summer wind played over his face and through the trees, and rippled over the surface of the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter low on smut, sorry. There's some gore, at least, followed by more dating fluff, so there's that.

The red Virginia barns looked quiet and simple from the outside, surrounded as they were by hillocks and tall, yellowing grass. They reminded Jack Crawford of the painting, _Cobb’s Barns, South Truro_. The scene inside the largest barn was less idyllic.

The two men were conventioners visiting DC from Georgia, as Crawford had been informed. Now each man was naked, bound at the wrists and ankles, hung up by the neck with a block and tackle, and eviscerated. Blood had been flung and spattered across the barn - signs that the victims had struggled. They hadn’t been sedated, stunned, or bled out beforehand  - just strung up and gutted while they were alive and fully conscious. Most of the internal organs were accounted for - each organ had been individually suspended from the rafters on fishing wire so as to hang directly in front of where it belonged in each man’s body. From a frontal view, the men looked like three-dimensional organ diagrams. The way the organs had been displayed, it was almost an invitation to pick out what was missing from the diagrams - the small intestines.

Though he didn’t want to, Crawford thought immediately of the Chesapeake Ripper.

 

Hannibal was inches from Will’s face, beaming as he tied a necktie around Will’s upturned shirt collar. Then he flattened the collar and helped Will into a suit jacket the same plain black as the tie and the slacks Will was wearing. Hannibal stood back to admire his work as Will scowled at himself in a full-length mirror, feeling entirely out of his element.

So Hannibal came up behind Will, placed a hand on his shoulder, and quietly told him, “You look exceptionally handsome.”

“Thanks,” Will said stiffly, refusing to meet Hannibal’s eyes. “Um - should I try on the overcoat?”

The knee-length, gray tweed overcoat Hannibal retrieved now was the one item Will actually looked forward to putting to use, once Louisiana cooled down for the winter.

Aside from that, Hannibal had chosen for him a simple-enough steel and black leather watch and a couple of shirts in light blues. “They’ll bring out your eyes nicely,” Hannibal had said.

All thankfully less extravagant than Will had feared, but then, he had been careful to avoid looking at any prices. He still left the store feeling a little drained.

“Everything’s being shipped to the hotel,” Hannibal said as he led Will to his newly-rented car. “I want to show you something.”

 

Will was too busy shying away from the noisy throngs of people all pressed together around each artwork to want to stop and focus on any one piece himself. Thankfully, Will didn’t feel pressured to linger amidst the crowds any longer than he had to, because Hannibal was leading him on a purposeful path through the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

One statue caught Will’s eye - a bronze cast of Paul Manship’s _Prometheus_ that looked like rough, half-formed clay flecked with gold. But then Hannibal was leading him through to a room quieted by a lull in visitors. The silence made Will feel like he was taking a breath after staying too long underwater. He linked arms with Hannibal and finally took the time to glance around.

A sign by the door said “Edward Hopper” with a short biography and description of the artist’s style. Will did a slow circuit of the room with Hannibal, lingering for a long time on each sketch and painting.

“These are peaceful,” Will said.

There was a quiet intimacy in Hannibal’s eyes as he replied, “They remind me of you.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m peaceful,” Will laughed.

“You can be.”

Will sighed. “Let’s hang out in here for a little bit, before more people come.”

Hannibal kissed Will on the cheek and went to sit down on a bench in the center of the room, where he could watch Will walking around again, lingering especially long on his favorites - two people and a collie outside a white country house; a woman sitting on a hotel bed, staring pensively out a window; another, dark-haired woman, naked, asleep, her back to the viewer, with her limbs tangled up in cushions of varying warm colors.

Will glanced back at Hannibal when he noticed the sound of a pencil scratching over paper. Hannibal had a small leather sketchbook open on top of his crossed knees and was drawing in it. Hannibal looked up at Will, smiled, put a few finishing touches on what he was doing, and then looked up again and beckoned with his hand.

Will sat beside Hannibal on the bench and saw that the man had been sketching what looked a lot like the graphite study hanging on the wall for _Reclining Female Nude, Rear View_. Only the figure was thinner, with more muscle tone and shorter, curlier hair.

“Is that - did you start that last night?” Will asked.

“No, just now. I draw from memory - my imagination keeps me entertained.”

“It’s . . . ” Will didn’t want to call the sketch of his own naked form “beautiful,” at the risk of sounding egoistic. But the drawing was beautiful, and that made Will feel more self-conscious than self-praising. He settled on, “That’s really well-done.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“What’d you do all day yesterday, if you don’t mind my asking? I didn’t see you till we met at the restaurant.” _And then went back to the hotel. And straight to your bed. And didn’t give each other much of a chance to discuss the events of the day. Unless your multilingual utterances that had sounded a lot like expletives had really been a drawn-out “So, guess what I did today, sweetie?”_

“I took a drive, out into Virginia. The countryside is lovely - I wish you could have come with me.”

Just then, a group of loud preteens in school uniforms entered, being shushed to no avail by an aggravated-looking teacher.

“Let’s go,” Hannibal said, standing and offering Will a hand.

 

The cherry blossoms were on the last leg of their bloom for the year as Will and Hannibal walked beneath them along the tidal basin, fingers interlocked. Hannibal spoke softly in Will’s ear about the sakura trees, about how they represented fragility and transformation, about how their seasonal change was never easy to predict but always beautiful, to the extent that people travelled to follow the blooms as they occurred throughout the different regions of Japan and wherever else the trees were present in the world.

Will only half listened, in a daze, as the warm summer wind played over his face and through the trees, and rippled over the surface of the water.

 

When Will and Hannibal arrived back at the hotel lobby, two people in suits were showing badges to the concierge and asking her a slew of questions she seemed flustered about answering properly.

“Wonder what’s going on,” Will said.

Hannibal easily worked his visage into one of confusion and concern, but said, “Best not to ask until the authorities have finished their work here,” and led Will back to the elevators with a hand on the small of the young man’s back.

But then a voice called from across the lobby, “Will Graham?”

It was Beverly Katz, out of her lab coat and FBI Academy polo, wearing a button-down blouse and dress pants. She was approaching quickly, and Will fought off the mad urge to duck away into the open elevator.

“Hey,” she said cordially. “It’s Beverly Katz, the trainee from the BAU yesterday? Crawford’s got you out here working on the Ripper thing, too?”

“Ripper thing? The Chesapeake Ripper?”

“Oh, maybe he didn’t tell you that the Ripper’s already the main suspect. But yeah, those two guys that were gutted - Jack thinks it’s him.”

“Gutted? What - ?”

“Will, it appears as though Ms. Katz is here for a case on which Agent Crawford has not asked you to consult,” Hannibal interjected quietly.

The elevator doors closed. Katz’s eyes widened.

“Oh, no,” she said. “Well, I’ll catch hell for that. Sorry, Will. What are you doing here, then, if Crawford didn’t send you?”

Will glared at the floor and began to press impatiently at the elevator button. The stress was making him rude.

“Will and I are staying at this hotel while he tours graduate schools in the area.” Hannibal said. “I am his professor, Dr. Hannibal Lecter.”

Hannibal shook Beverly’s hand.

“Oh. Getting all your options lined up, huh?” she said to Will, and winked.

She hadn’t meant anything by the wink, other than that Crawford might not approve of Will scoping out graduate schools while he was supposed to be considering the FBI as a career option. Hannibal’s partial lie had been delivered smoothly - Katz couldn’t know that Will had been returning from a date with his own professor, intent on letting the man fuck him into the mattress as soon as their hotel room door was shut behind them.

Will still panicked and sidled into the reopening elevator doors without another word. He glanced back, thought a moment, and then held the doors to let Hannibal give Beverly Katz a polite goodbye before calmly entering the elevator behind Will.

“Sorry,” Will said after a brief, strained silence.

“That’s quite alright, Will. You were caught off-guard. Ms. Katz is very . . . frank.”

Hannibal gave Will a conspiratorial grin, and Will nodded and let himself smile back.

 

Hannibal licked a warm, slick line up Will’s inner thigh. Will was laid out on the bed in only a shirt, his legs spread to the touch of Hannibal’s tongue.

The phone on the nightstand rang.

“No,” Will whimpered as Hannibal stilled. “Ignore it, ignore it.”

It rang again.

Hannibal crawled forward so that he was hovering over Will face-to-face, then reached for the phone handle.

“Hannibal Lecter,” he answered pleasantly.

Will banged his head once against the pillows and sighed, defeated. Hannibal kissed Will once to silence him as the person on the phone spoke.

“Yes, I recall,” Hannibal said. “How are you, Agent Crawford?”

Will froze, brows knit with confusion, and Hannibal sat up. Will sat up, too, rapidly covering himself with the bedsheet as if Crawford could see him through the telephone.

“That’s correct . . . He is a remarkable young man, yes . . . It is a discussion worth having, but I would feel more comfortable having it when Mr. Graham is in a position to speak for himself. Perhaps we could meet, the three of us, sometime later this week. I will discuss it with him and get back to you as soon as I can . . . Certainly, Agent Crawford. Please enjoy the remainder of your evening.”

“What the hell?” Will piped up as soon as the handset clicked back into place.

“Crawford is investigating the deaths of two tourists who were staying at our hotel. He discovered we were staying here under my name, and now he wants to discuss your career options with me. I gather he may also wish to pick the both of our brains about his latest case.”

“So you agreed to _meet_ with him?”

“I agreed to discuss it with you, and then get back to him. Whether or not we meet with him is entirely up to you.”

Will leaned forward, rested his forehead on Hannibal’s shoulder, and sighed.

“I thought you wanted me to get away from the FBI, from all of Crawford’s lunatics.”

“‘Lunatics’ is a subjective term. And, as always, I want you to do whatever you feel is best.”

“I don’t really know that I’m in a position to judge what’s best.”

“I have tremendous faith in your judgement, Will.” He said it like a caress as he tilted Will’s chin up for a kiss. “You are the only truly astute person I have ever known.”

Will could almost believe it, too, seeing himself through Hannibal’s eyes.

  
  
  


 

  
  
  
  



	4. Disoriented

On Thursday, Hannibal took Will to Johns Hopkins. They were wandering together through the campus library shortly after finishing a guided tour with a group of other prospective students and their families. Will was watching as Hannibal flipped through an old medical tome and lingered nostalgically on a printed reproduction of the Wound Man.

The image on the page made Will uncomfortable. It gave him the stirrings of that feeling just before he entered a killer’s perspective - relinquishing control to another’s mind, yet somehow feeling the rush of power that comes with killing.

Will cleared his throat and tried to focus on Hannibal, saying, “You went to medical school. Did you always want to teach?”

“Originally, I wanted to practice medicine. I worked as an ER surgeon for a short while.”

“Did you like it?”

“Saving lives can be exhilarating. But I found that studying the workings of the human mind held my interest far better, so I turned to psychology. Teaching allows me to focus on those studies while shaping and directing the lives of those who come to me to learn.”

“You didn’t feel obligated to stay at the ER, because of the good you were doing there?”

“‘Good’ is a matter of perspective. I find it best to simply do what pleases me.”

“I’m learning that about you,” Will said with a wry smile. He slid the book from Hannibal’s hands and began to move in for a kiss while they were hidden between bookshelves.

But then a sharp-looking blonde woman about Hannibal’s age approached them, designer heels clicking against the tile floor and a minute smile directed at Hannibal. Will went rigid and then shuffled to place the book back where it belonged.

“Bedelia,” Hannibal greeted her with a familiarity that set Will’s teeth slightly on edge.

“Hello, Hannibal,” she replied in a slow, cool tone, keeping her distance. Will relaxed somewhat.

“You must be Will Graham,” the woman said, moving her gaze towards Will. “I’m Dr. Bedelia du Maurier; I’m an admissions director. Your professor and I were colleagues several years ago.”

“Nice to meet you,” Will said stiffly, his jaw still a little tense with possessive wariness.

Again, she gave that barely-there smile, and said, “Please, follow me.”

As they walked, Will’s eyes raked over Dr. du Maurier to glean what he could from her appearance. She was attractive now, may have been even more so in the past. Her apparel and demeanor mostly bespoke composure, but also perhaps a hidden affinity for power and fine things. Will could guess at what her relationship with Hannibal had entailed, “several years ago.” At least, Will could think of no other reason for the woman to be so aloof with Hannibal as she was now.

Once they were all seated in Dr. du Maurier’s office, she focused deliberately on Will, all business, all about Will’s past performance as a student, about the graduate programs available to him, about his professional interests. Will unthinkingly mentioned his consultations with FBI Behavioral Sciences and the job they’d offered him, and du Maurier tensed just slightly, just momentarily, but visibly.

When they’d finished talking, du Maurier gave Will her regards and then asked for a private word with Hannibal. Will looked searchingly between the two of them, but they were like a pair of excessively genteel statues. Will could sense nothing but his own mounting headache as he took his leave and made for the on-campus convenience shop he had passed along his tour. Maybe he could find aspirin.

Alone in her office with Hannibal, du Maurier went to a large wooden armoire. Opening it revealed it was a liquor cabinet, complete with a small wine cooler. She pulled out a bottle of something pink and gestured to Hannibal with it.

Hannibal smiled and said, “Please.”

As she poured two glasses, du Maurier asked outrightly, “What are you hoping to achieve with this young man?”

Lecter considered, then said, “For the first time in a long while I see a possibility of friendship. He’s nothing like me. We see the world in different ways. Yet he can assume my point of view.”

“By profiling the criminally insane,” she pointed out, handing Lecter a glass.

“As good a demonstration as any. I find it reassuring.”

“It’s nice when someone sees us, Hannibal. Or has the ability to see us. It requires trust. Trust is difficult for you. You spend a lot of time building walls. It’s natural to want to see if someone is clever enough to climb over them. But whatever you’re doing with Will Graham - stop.”

“Will needs my help,” Hannibal said fondly. “I’m protecting him from influence. He has flaws in his intuitive beliefs about what makes him who he is. I’m trying to help him understand.”

“He is your student, not your patient, not anything more. You’ve crossed professional lines.”

“By making a friend?”

“A friend,” du Maurier repeated dryly, pursing her lips and fiddling with the clasp of her watch. “Your flirtation with Will Graham, and by extension, with the FBI, may compromise you and others around you. Under scrutiny, others’ beliefs about you might start to unravel. And they might begin to ask about our history.”

“What would you tell them?” Lecter asked, the beginnings of danger now in his tensing features.

Du Maurier was intensely aware of how much of her own safety would ride on her answer. She breathed in, took a sip of her wine, and said, “Half-truths. That a troubled student swallowed his tongue while he was attacking me. I wouldn’t tell them how, or why, or who was responsible.”

“You would protect me, but I can’t protect Will?”

“You have to maintain boundaries, Hannibal.”

“When the pressures of my personal and professional relationship with Will grow too great, I assure you, I’ll find a way to relieve them.”

 

In the car, Will rested his throbbing head against the gently vibrating passenger’s seat window. He was curled up against the door, away from Hannibal.

“You seem distressed,” Hannibal said.

“Sorry,” Will said softly, straightening, though the movement made his stomach lurch, made the passing shapes of trees and buildings and people outside the car seem to turn to unidentifiable creatures rippling through water on either side of him. Will registered vaguely that it was actually raining.

Hannibal breathed deeply. The scent of fever was coming off of Will in unrelenting waves.

“There’s no need to apologize, Will,” Hannibal said. “But I would like to know what it is that’s troubling you. I might be of help.”    

“Yeah,” Will said, swallowing and rubbing his eyes. “Sometimes I feel disoriented, like . . . like I’m waking up, and I don’t know where I am or how I got there.”

“When was the last time you felt this way?” Hannibal asked evenly, hiding his intrigue.

“Just now, actually,” Will huffed, as though the admission cost him something vital. “The last thing I remember is leaving the admissions director’s office. Next thing I know we’re here and you’re talking to me.”

“Will, this may be the result of stress from some of the things you’ve witnessed. I would strongly advise that we cancel our appointment with the BAU tomorrow.”

“No, I need to go,” Will said resolutely, powering through his body’s shakiness. “If only to tell Agent Crawford I have to turn down his offer.”

“You have already given more than you could have of yourself to Agent Crawford. You owe him nothing. I wish that you would show the same consideration for yourself as you do for him.”

“Do what pleases me?” Will said, managing a smile as they rolled to a stop in front of a rain soaked cafe for lunch.

“Precisely,” Hannibal replied, planting a kiss on Will’s temple.

  
  
  
  


 

  
  



End file.
